buildings at 44 / Kathryn Casey
Princeton and West Point, and the result was a school that exemplified Cram’s “collegiate gothic” style.
At times the school had been in fi nancial turmoil, nearly closing or selling off to the state of Virginia, but UR’s alumni had always come through, as in 1969 when E. Claiborne Robins, a 1931 graduate whose family’s pharmaceutical company marketed the cough medicine Robitussin, gifted the school with what was then a staggering sum: $50
million. Ironically, A.H. Robins pharmaceutical, which also manufactured the Dalkon Shield, would later fall victim to a decade of litigation and eventual bankruptcy. By then, fueled by the gifts of Robins and others, UR had one of the largest endowments in the nation: in 1994, when Fred Jablin arrived, approaching $1 billion. Most of the students came from East Coast families, and the costs of attending were $30,000 per student per year. For qualified students who couldn’t pay, the university had ample funds for grants and scholarships.
The Jepson School, where Fred signed on, began under similar circumstances, funded by a $20 million gift from Bob Jepson, an alumnus and corporate turnaround specialist, who wanted to start a leadership school and gave the university the funds to realize his dream. The Jepson School opened in 1992, the year the University of Richmond hosted presidential debates pitting the first George Bush against Ross Perot and a charismatic Arkansas governor, William Jefferson Clinton.
The Jepson faculty had impressive credentials. In Jepson Hall, with its arched bell tower, Dr. Joanne Ciulla, one of the school’s founding professors, had an office on the fi rst floor, directly next to Fred. She had a Ph.D. in philosophy from Temple University and had come to UR from the Harvard Business School and the Wharton School. At UR, she taught ethics and leadership. Other faculty examined leadership through the eyes of their diverse disci-DIE, MY LOVE / 45
plines: psychology, religion, government, art, history, and po liti cal science.
For Fred, the Jepson slot had presented itself at just the right time. He’d had other offers that year, but nothing as lucrative. And it held another appeal: Despite Fred’s reputation and accomplishments, there
were other
top-drawer
communications scholars at UT, like John Daly. At UR, Fred was offered what might have taken him a decade or more at UT: an endowed position, the E. Claiborne Robins Chair, a lifelong, guaranteed post, with ample time to do his research. “At the University of Richmond, Fred was a big fish in a small pond,” says Knapp. “That held a certain appeal.”
The benefits weren’t one- sided. The Jepson School had reasons for courting Fred Jablin. “We wanted Fred because of what he’d done for organization al communication, research that used meticulous standards,” says Ciulla. “Leadership was also a new field, and it needed that discipline.”
The school’s mandate was to study leadership and to teach students what they needed to know to lead. Students applied as juniors, and the competition was tough, with 150 vying for sixty openings.
At first, Fred’s adjustment to working with undergradu-ates was a difficult one. But before long he settled in and enjoyed the change, teaching classes in not only communication and leadership, but collaborating with other faculty members to develop classes in “Art and Leadership” and
“History and Theories of Leadership.”
In many ways the Jepson School was a good match for Fred Jablin. He was a man who believed in rules, and it was an institution that studied morals and ethics. Quickly, his office, Jepson 242, filled with framed drawings by Paxton and Jocelyn, and photos of Piper and the children. Shelves strained under his collection of books, and stacks of papers covered his desk, shelves, file cabinets, and even the fl oor. In 46 / Kathryn Casey
the spring, pink and white azaleas bloomed on the campus,
Princeton and West Point, and the result was a school that exemplified Cram’s “collegiate gothic” style.
At times the school had been in fi nancial turmoil, nearly closing or selling off to the state of Virginia, but UR’s alumni had always come through, as in 1969 when E. Claiborne Robins, a 1931 graduate whose family’s pharmaceutical company marketed the cough medicine Robitussin, gifted the school with what was then a staggering sum: $50
million. Ironically, A.H. Robins pharmaceutical, which also manufactured the Dalkon Shield, would later fall victim to a decade of litigation and eventual bankruptcy. By then, fueled by the gifts of Robins and others, UR had one of the largest endowments in the nation: in 1994, when Fred Jablin arrived, approaching $1 billion. Most of the students came from East Coast families, and the costs of attending were $30,000 per student per year. For qualified students who couldn’t pay, the university had ample funds for grants and scholarships.
The Jepson School, where Fred signed on, began under similar circumstances, funded by a $20 million gift from Bob Jepson, an alumnus and corporate turnaround specialist, who wanted to start a leadership school and gave the university the funds to realize his dream. The Jepson School opened in 1992, the year the University of Richmond hosted presidential debates pitting the first George Bush against Ross Perot and a charismatic Arkansas governor, William Jefferson Clinton.
The Jepson faculty had impressive credentials. In Jepson Hall, with its arched bell tower, Dr. Joanne Ciulla, one of the school’s founding professors, had an office on the fi rst floor, directly next to Fred. She had a Ph.D. in philosophy from Temple University and had come to UR from the Harvard Business School and the Wharton School. At UR, she taught ethics and leadership. Other faculty examined leadership through the eyes of their diverse disci-DIE, MY LOVE / 45
plines: psychology, religion, government, art, history, and po liti cal science.
For Fred, the Jepson slot had presented itself at just the right time. He’d had other offers that year, but nothing as lucrative. And it held another appeal: Despite Fred’s reputation and accomplishments, there
were other
top-drawer
communications scholars at UT, like John Daly. At UR, Fred was offered what might have taken him a decade or more at UT: an endowed position, the E. Claiborne Robins Chair, a lifelong, guaranteed post, with ample time to do his research. “At the University of Richmond, Fred was a big fish in a small pond,” says Knapp. “That held a certain appeal.”
The benefits weren’t one- sided. The Jepson School had reasons for courting Fred Jablin. “We wanted Fred because of what he’d done for organization al communication, research that used meticulous standards,” says Ciulla. “Leadership was also a new field, and it needed that discipline.”
The school’s mandate was to study leadership and to teach students what they needed to know to lead. Students applied as juniors, and the competition was tough, with 150 vying for sixty openings.
At first, Fred’s adjustment to working with undergradu-ates was a difficult one. But before long he settled in and enjoyed the change, teaching classes in not only communication and leadership, but collaborating with other faculty members to develop classes in “Art and Leadership” and
“History and Theories of Leadership.”
In many ways the Jepson School was a good match for Fred Jablin. He was a man who believed in rules, and it was an institution that studied morals and ethics. Quickly, his office, Jepson 242, filled with framed drawings by Paxton and Jocelyn, and photos of Piper and the children. Shelves strained under his collection of books, and stacks of papers covered his desk, shelves, file cabinets, and even the fl oor. In 46 / Kathryn Casey
the spring, pink and white azaleas bloomed on the campus,
Similar Books
